


A Cold Moon

by PyrophobicDragon



Series: New Alberia Wolf Pack [1]
Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 05:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21131132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyrophobicDragon/pseuds/PyrophobicDragon
Summary: Heinwald is the sole human in the New Alberia pack of werewolves. As with many social norms, he doesn't care if it is considered unusual or not.But just because he doesn't care doesn't mean that other people don't.





	A Cold Moon

Heinwald stepped out of the castle doors and into the yard. The wind whispered past, catching onto his loose hair and the robe he was wearing, making him shiver. For most, stepping outside in nothing but a thin robe on a cold autumn’s day would be a foolish idea. But he endured, knowing that he won’t be cold much longer. 

In the distance, he heard a wolf howl. He quickened his pace.

As he approached the entrance, the bright moonlight easily illuminated the land that lay beyond the wall that ringed in the castle yard. Already, through the gap in the wall, he could see several figures, some prancing and play-fighting, some pacing, and one sitting back on his haunches, waiting patiently with his tongue lolled out of his head. 

Heinwald smiled.

When he got closer, the one sitting patiently began to do the dog thing where he was doing his best to stay but he really, really, really wanted to not-stay. Standing up, sitting back down, doing it over and over again...he was impatient to run over to Heinwald, but the werewolves of Mistholt were well-trained to stay out of the innermost yard.

He increased his pace to a jog. The large brown wolf that had been tussling with the two red wolves stopped, shaking off the larger one, and howled. All of the other wolves joined in his greeting, save the sitting one, who stood up, hesitated, and broke the unspoken boundary to run over and head-butt Heinwald’s chest. 

As a wolf, Curran was a tall beast, easily reaching Heinwald’s shoulders. He was strong, too, so much so that that playful nudge was nearly enough to knock him off his feet. He stumbled backwards, but caught himself, and buried his fingers in his lover’s thick, blonde fur. “Hello, Curran,” he whispered, his voice caught and carried off on the wind.

Curran growled and licked his face, then turned and escorted him out.

Outside, the other werewolves sniffed him, equally as pleased to see him but much less tactile about it. He doled out some scratches and pets in return, smoothing down Johanna’s fur, scratching under Ranzal’s chin, rubbing Yue’s ear.

He was quick to release his grip on Curran’s fur to cover his ears when Ranzal threw his head back and howled once more. It was echoed by all of the werewolves, this time, and Heinwald knew it signalled the start of a moon cycle: they would remain in wolf form for the next three days, hunting, playing, and keeping watch over their territory.

Heinwald gave Curran’s side a push. “You can run off if you wish, I’m well aware of how to get to the den,” he told him.

Curran growled, not moving from his side.

Heinwald gave him an even firmer shove. “Go on. You’re starving. The rest of the pack is starving. Go and hunt.”

Yue let out a tiny yip. Curran heaved a great sigh and reluctantly stepped away from him. Ranzal gave him a gentle nudge, then gave one to Heinwald, and then turned and bounded off into the woods. The rest of the pack followed, and their howls echoed in the trees as they searched for the first meal of the moon.

Heinwald sighed and shouldered his backpack, readying himself for the cold walk into the woods.

The den, the home base of the werewolf pack, was a clearing in the forest with a rocky overhang providing shelter from the rain. When he reached it, he noticed there were already live embers in the fire pit and pouted. He knew how to build a fire: it naught but was heat and fuel management and oxygen levels...he was simply very bad at it. It had taken him half a day last time. And Curran had spent the whole time whimpering at him, even though he had plenty of bread and apples to eat and he was plenty warm from the presence of the werewolves, because it was a “werewolf thing” to want to share their catch with the pack--with their mate--but there was no way Heinwald would consent to eating raw deer meat that’s been ravaged by wolf teeth without cooking it to absolute oblivion.

It was quite chilly without the wolves, so he spent some time poking at the fire, until it had risen enough to warm him up. He unfolded his blanket, setting it on the floor, took out his book, and then hung his backpack on a high branch. Any bears would be wary of the smell of wolf and human, but still, he didn’t fancy a tussle with a bear. For one, it could be one of Maribelle’s or Rawn’s bear friends, and he would get in trouble if he killed them.

He whiled away the time reading his book by the light of a lantern until he heard more howling.

Some minutes later, the wolves came bounding into the clearing, enthused by the meal. Ranzal and Rex, the two largest wolves, were dragging the ravaged remains of a large buck. Rex dropped the leg he had in his giant maws and came bounding over, tail wagging. Heinwald obliged him by rubbing that spot on his lower back that always seemed to itch him no matter when or where.

Then he stood up, picking up his knife, and walked over to the deer carcass. He carefully cut off a strip of meat from the front leg that appeared relatively intact and returned to the fire to drop it into a frying pan set on the fire to cook. Going back to the deer carcass, he chopped off the from leg he just harvested from by the joint and tossed the bone to the tiniest wolf, Noelle, who immediately began to gnaw on the bone happily, making more of a mess of her snow-white fur.

He had never been a camper. He never particularly enjoyed being outside, enduring the weather, the bugs, the temperature, the filth, the necessary physical activity...he was a man of soft hands, a man who never did manual labor in his life. Yet here he was, outside, cooking a strip of fresh venison over an open fire.

It all started, of course, when he met the man who was currently shoving his large snout against the back of his neck.

It was easy to tell that Curran was a werewolf from the second Heinwald had spotted him across the street. It was in the way he was constantly aware of his surroundings, at a level far more intuitive than trained. Heinwald had approached him, they solved their first case together, and fell in together as partners and, slowly, grudgingly, friends.

Curran used to insist that Heinwald not investigate his werewolf side. “It’s dangerous,” he’d say, “I could seriously hurt you.” Which, of course, was ridiculous--werewolves were far more dangerous in their human forms than in their wolf forms, by any metric imaginable. 

But, when Heinwald had inadvertently ended up outside during a full moon, he had discovered something: Curran wasn’t afraid of hurting Heinwald. He was afraid that Heinwald would discover his little crush. And his wolf side was far more proactive than his human side.

Heinwald had spent the moon being...courted, for want of a better term. Curran brought him freshly-killed deer, with nary a scratch on it save the killing blow; he had shown Heinwald the den he had created, encouraging him to lie down on the soft sandy floor and lying with him when he did; he had shown Heinwald his belly, shared his warmth with him, and the whole time his tail was wagging happily and his tongue was hanging out, pleased to finally have a chance to flirt with the object of his desire. When Heinwald had to go inside to eat or sleep, Curran would lie outside of his door, occasionally howling or scratching forlornly. 

At the end of the moon, Curran had changed back and begged for forgiveness, ears red in humiliation. He tried to lie to Heinwald, tell him that his wolf side just wanted him to be his packmate, nothing more, he swore that he would never do anything to jeopardize their friendship--

Luckily, he had shut up when Heinwald kissed him.

And then he had spent the next few months being courted by not only Curran as a wolf but Curran as a human, too. And when they moved to the Halidom, Ranzal had taken one look--or rather, sniff--of him and asked Curran, “Why haven’t you two mated yet?”

Curran had bumbled through his explanation about how mating was for life, and though his wolf side really, really wanted to mate with Heinwald, he knew that Heinwald might not be into the idea--

And Heinwald had asked him, “Why aren’t we mated yet?”

Indeed.

This was their fifth moon running with the Halidom pack. A pack that was created out of necessity, it was nonetheless a successful pack, without much in-fighting, thanks to their generally genial attitudes and respect for each other. 

Ranzal was the head of the pack, as he was the oldest, had the most authority as a human after his appointment as general of the New Alberian army, and in general had the best leadership ability. Vanessa, with her flaming fur, was arguably the best hunter in the pack, though Johanna, too, was always eager for a hunt; oftentimes, while the other wolves slept, those two were the ones who would go out and help Curran catch non-venison food so Heinwald could have a full meal. Rex was the biggest, standing almost two inches taller than Heinwald in his wolf form, but he had never, ever sparred with any of the other wolves, preferring to nap by Heinwald’s side so he could maximize the amount of scratches he got. Yue was a ball of energy, fueled by her eating habits: she was always the last to finish eating, going so far as to crack to bones open and lick out the marrow. Ku Hai had been alone for a very long time, and he was obviously still a bit wary of involving himself with a pack, but he showed his care in ways other than cuddling and play fights: he could often be seen pacing the perimeter of the den, keeping watch. The newest member was Noelle, also the smallest. She was a tiny little ball of nervous white fluff, though she seemed a bit more relaxed this moon.

He finished separating all the limbs from the body and the individual limb bones from each other. The wolves were more than capable of dismembering the deer to get their beloved bones to chew on by each grasping a side and pulling, but two months ago they tried that and the flying bits of blood and general gore had flown all the way over to splatter on Heinwald and make him very, very unhappy. The next time, he had brought a heavy butcher’s knife from the kitchen, and now he splits the joints himself to prevent that from happening. On a normal day like today, that task occupied him until his share of the venison was cooked. Or overcooked, by Ranzal’s standards; the large man never failed to complain about Heinwald’s cooking technique every time he changed back, claiming that it pained him even in wolf form.

He stabbed the slice of meat with a fork and nibbled on the end. It was, as all venison was, tough and gamey. Heinwald was not a lover of red meat even on good days, so it was, frankly, awful. But it was the principle of the matter: he was Curran’s mate, the pack had caught a meal, he must partake in the meal, especially as this was the symbolic first hunt that recharged their sorely depleted energy after that change.

The pack, satisfied that he got his share, was already wolfing down the remains of the buck. Curran had positioned himself so he could raise his bloodstained muzzle and check up on Heinwald every now and again. Heinwald ignored him in favor of picking up his book, losing himself in magical theory and letting the sounds of the feast fade out.

When he neared the end of the chapter, he felt something nudge his arm. He smiled and finished the final few paragraphs, then set aside the book. Curran instantly wiggled his way into his arms, resting his head on his lap. Heinwald offered him the remaining three-quarters of his venison piece, and he happily accepted it, growling happily at sharing a bite with his mate.

Then he began to climb into Heinwald’s lap, pushing him over. Heinwald went, willingly, letting Curran scent him. He relaxed and wrapped his arms around his lover.

They remained like that, peacefully pseudo-cuddling, until the large bulk of another were knocked into Curran.

Curran growled at Vanessa, who yipped at him, hopping back and forth playfully. She must have gotten annoyed seeing them being so enchanted by each other, and Heinwald scowled at her as he slowly sat up again. “Vanessa, please. We were having a moment.”

She rolled her eyes at him.  _ Moment’s over, I wanna play with Curran. _

Curran nipped at her, but she only took it as a signal to play, immediately tackling him to the floor. Heinwald laughed at his lover’s annoyed expression, still familiar even in his wolf form. 

The wolf pack got rid of their excess energy by playfighting. Curran always tried his best to impress Heinwald with his fighting ability, but he was no match against Vanessa’s energy.

After terribly losing his fight, Curran came trotting over, already grumpy. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Heinwald scolded him, but he obliged him by giving him a big kiss on the forehead. Curran sighed, closing his eyes, and collapsed on top of him with a heavy  _ whumph. _

Blanketed by the large were, Heinwald sighed. He was hoping to finish another chapter of his book, but Curran had the power to choose his bedtime for him in a way his human form could not. He took off his glasses and his hearing aid and set both on his book, pushing it up and away, as the rest of the wolves realized it was now sleeping time and wandered over. Within minutes, Heinwald was at the center of a fluffy pile of werewolf fur, already feeling like he was lying under three blankets. Werewolves radiated a lot of heat, and it was the reason why he never wore anything heavier than a robe.

The sound of snoring dog was a familiar symphony. Covered by warm fur, he buried his fingers in Curran’s pelt and fell asleep.

He woke up by a chill and a large, wet tongue gliding across his face. He growled at Curran as he sat up, wiping wolf saliva off his cheek. Through his blurred vision, he could tell Curran was grinning.

“Go get breakfast,” Heinwald told him grumpily. “I’m going to wash this off my face.”

The wolves disappeared in a flash, off on another hunt, and Heinwald hoped they would bring back a nice wild turkey or some fish. He hated venison.

It was down to the river for a bath for him. Back when it was only him and Curran, he had no qualms with taking a full-body bath even in the colder months, for Curran would be pacing the riverbank, both to leer at him and to act as a towel and a heater when he emerged. With a pack, Heinwald was perhaps a little hesitant to be bare himself completely. The scarred canvas of his body was...not pretty. So he settled for only washing his face, his hands, and his hair, and immediately scurrying back to the fire to dry his hair and warm up from the freezing cold river water.

He ate a few bites of bread to sate his hunger--he had forgotten to eat last night; not an unusual happenstance even outside of the full moon--and rested by the fire until the pack returned. They had another deer with them, but he could tell by the stains on their fur and muzzles that they had found a bush full of the last of the summer berries and had gorged themselves on the rare sweet treat.

Then Curran trotted into the clearing. He dropped a fish by Heinwald’s seat and sat down, tail wagging. Much like the gifts of their courting days, this was perfectly pristine, with even the inevitable teeth marks barely visible. Heinwald smiled at his lover and patted his cheek. “Thank you, my love.” 

Curran’s happy barks were drowned out by loud groans from the rest of the werewolves.

After breakfast, Heinwald reached into his bag and took out a wire hairbrush. In no time at all, all the weres were circling him, barking enthusiastically, excited for one of their favorite pack bonding activities: Grooming Time with Heinwald.

Ranzal, as pack leader, got to be first in line; Curran, as Heinwald’s mate, got to be last, for he would inevitably get the slowest, most thorough and loving brushing, and if he were to get the rewards of being Heinwald’s mate he at least shouldn’t make others wait for his brushing session to finish.

Ranzal trotted over at Heinwald’s beckoning. Instead of lying or sitting down, he trotted even closer, right into his personal space, and rested his head on Heinwald’s lap. Heinwald drew back in surprise: that was Curran’s spot. Sure enough, Curran immediately began to growl, and Ranzal let out a laughing bark before he retracted himself into a much more proprietary sitting position. Heinwald scowled and pointed his hairbrush at him. “Stop trying to make Curran jealous. Everyone here knows you’ll never try to steal another wolf’s mate, and it wasn’t funny the first time and it won’t be funny the next hundred.”

Ranzal only grinned at him. Heinwald rolled his eyes, stood up, and began to brush his dark fur.

It was autumn, which meant that they were shedding their summer coats for their winter coats. No doubt the excess fur was itchy; it was coming out in clumps, forcing Heinwald to stop every once in a while to unclog the bristles. A small pile of werewolf fur, dense and soft, grew at an alarming pace at Heinwald’s feet.

The brushing sessions were longer than normal, given the aforementioned shedding, but soon Curran was lying in his lap, looking up at him with his big, blue eyes filled with love and affection. It was an innocent look, deliberately charming and beseeching, begging for validation after Ranzal made him all jealous earlier, and Heinwald rolled his eyes. Curran’s love for him was many things, but it was not at all innocent. It couldn’t be, after Curran spent the half-week before the full moon brutally fucking his asshole multiple times a night.

“You’re not fooling me, I know you just want validation,” Heinwald told him.

Curran whuffed.

Heinwald sighed, and leaned over as he pushed the brush down Curran’s spine. He cupped his cheek in his free hand. “You’re my darling mate, I love you very much, we’re mated for life, no one could replace you, you’re my first and my last and everything in between. Is that good enough?” 

Was it possible for weres to blush? He could sense that Curran was; he obviously wasn’t expecting that level of sweet-talk. But Heinwald was nothing if not obliging. He smirked down at him and then pressed a kiss to his forehead.

When he leaned back to clean the brush (again), he was bowled over by Curran leaping onto him, licking his face all over, rubbing his nose against every inch of bare skin, and creating new bare skin by digging his nose under his robe.

“Ack! Curran…!” But there was very little he could do against the onslaught of wet kisses.

Time passed. Heinwald was not the sort of man who could while away the hours doing nothing, but time moved differently during the moon. Reading a book would usually take more no more than three hours, but one thick tome was enough to last him all three days. Gathering firewood, especially with the help of a wolf, should take no more than half an hour, but it seemed to take twice that time, and he never seemed to have enough. He would start eating lunch, and then immediately have to plan his evening meal. He always had room in his stomach for food, but he never quite felt hungry. He never missed his mate, but he always looked forward to his return.

He wondered if being exposed to Curran ended up influencing his biological reactions during the full moon somehow. He was already planning experiments to solve that little mystery.

Before he knew it, it was already late evening of the second day. The wolves were agitated; when they returned from the hunt the deer had been savaged, and he only had a bit of meat from the ankle that was untouched by their teeth. Curran was possessive, snapping and snarling at any of his packmates that wandered too close to Heinwald, and he whined and whimpered whenever Heinwald wasn’t in direct contact with him. When Johanna and Vanessa sparred, their teeth were a little too sharp, eyes a little too flinty. As of yet, no blood was drawn, but Heinwald kept a close eye on the two of them. Ku Hai disappeared in and out of the trees, but he never wandered too far.

Eventually, Ranzal rose to his feet and barked. The others immediately got up as well, save for Curran, who looked at Heinwald out of the corner of his eye and remained flat on his belly on the forest floor. Heinwald shut his book and carefully clambered on top of his lover, feeling the muscles rippling underneath soft fur as Curran rose to his feet, carefully testing the balance. He dug his fingers into his fur and, after a moment where he knew he needed to do something but couldn’t remember what it was, reached up and turned off his hearing aid. His right ear would ring as he slept, but at the least he could spare his left to a certain degree.

He braced himself as Ranzal howled, joined by the other wolves. 

When the full moon was at the height of its power, it was time to run.

He flattened himself against Curran’s back as he took off, doing his best to make himself a smaller target for the branches whipping overhead. The brasher wolves crashed through the trees, the stealthier ones ran near-silently, slipping through small spaces in the brush. Ranzal led them to a clearing, skidding to a stop; the others circled around him, waiting for his cue to begin the song.

These howls reverberated through the woods. They had some indescribable quality that made it clear to all who could hear that these could not be passed off as an ordinary pack of wolves doing ordinary wolf things. 

Heinwald sat up, feeling the rumbling vibration of Curran’s howling deep in his bones, feeling the way his heart nearly trembled in time. He was merely a human. He was not a wolf. He could not hunt, he could not patrol, he could not howl, he could not run. But Curran always, always carried him when he went to chase the moon, because even if he was not a wolf he was pack.

He sometimes wondered how many humans were allowed to be within a running wolf pack. How many were close enough to feel the howling that seemed to climb up his spine and nestle in a primal cavity deep within his chest. How many heard this sound, and instead of trembling with fear, felt warm and safe and protected.

The howling stopped. He flattened himself down, once more, wrapping his arms around Curran’s neck, careful to keep his hug from strangling him. Then they were running, once more.

The pack ran for two hours today. Sometimes they ran for one, sometimes they ran for three, sometimes they ran for only ten minutes. They ran and they sang their hearts out to the moon who ruled their being for three days out of the month, and Heinwald sat on Curran’s pack, carried by his lover--by his mate--safely through the woods.

The pack returned to their den. There would be no more hunts tonight, only rest. Heinwald slid off of Curran’s back, knowing more than experiencing the aching pain in his bones. Riding a wolf, even one as large and considerate as Curran, was a painful experience, but he was shaking too much to feel the pain. He collapsed on his blanket, and Curran nestled in right next to him, and the rest of the pack fell into place around them.

They rested. The worst of the moon was over.

**Author's Note:**

> Neither of Noelle's parents were werewolves, but her maternal grandfather was.


End file.
